Hell's Company
by NutsandVolts
Summary: The war is over, Panem is "free," yet Gale has nothing, no one. Except for the one person who tumbled down this path with him. Pre-slash. Beetee/Gale.


**In case the genre or description did not tip you off, this _is _Beetee/Gale slash and if you don't like,_please _don't read. All credit for the characters and such goes to Suzanne Collins. Enjoy!**

* * *

Alerted by the crunch of broken porcelain, Gale sits up to find Beetee entering his guest bedroom in the Presidential Mansion, eyes wide as he takes in the mess. "What happened in here?" he asks.

Unabashed, Gale slides off the bed, stretches, and makes to leave the room, only to sink back onto the mattress and run a hand through his hair. "I threw a few things," he admits.

"Oh." Beetee continues to survey the destruction. "Um_…_why, exactly?"

Gale shrugs, not even entirely sure himself. "To vent?" he answers after a pause. "Get some anger out, I guess." If that's the case, it worked. For the first time in a while, Gale doesn't feel angry, just tired. He's a hunter and spends a lot of time on the move, so of course he's used to fatigue, but this is an entirely new kind. An emotional kind of exhaustion, rather than a physical one. Now that he's experiencing the former, he knows for sure that he'd definitely prefer the latter.

"Anger?" Beetee repeats, an eyebrow quirked in confusion. Gale mimics his expression, ironically perplexed by his perplexity; after all, he'd spoken simply enough.

"Yeah. Anger," he affirms. "What? You're not angry?"

"No," says Beetee, as if slightly surprised, and now Gale's brow knits into a scowl. "Why would I be angry?"

_Why would he be angry?_ Gale doesn't want to think about the obvious answer to this question, as it's something he's trying to avoid thinking about, so he hides his discomfort behind a snort of disbelief. "I think you know why," he says, so he doesn't have to it out himself. When Beetee only continues to watch him, puzzled, Gale snaps, "The bombs?"

Now his face lights up with grim recognition. "Oh," he says. "Oh, yes. Um…well, I don't think _angry_ is the right word for, um…how I feel."

Gale's irritation vanishes, replaced by bewilderment. "It's not?" Beetee shakes his head. "What is, then?"

Beetee moves to sit next to Gale on the bed, and he's quiet for a few moments before he answers, "Shame, probably. Disbelief. Disappointment."

Gale's confusion intensifies. "Disappointment?" he repeats.

"It was her. Coin," Beetee murmurs, eyes downcast. "She dropped the bombs. Lord knows why, but she did. Yet no one seems to suspect that. It's as if everyone's so eager to put everything behind them, they'd overlook something like that. They blindly believe in her promise of freedom. Which means nothing will ever change. It really belittles your faith in humanity."

"Oh," says Gale, slightly surprised by this line of thinking. After a moment, something else occurs to him, and he looks down at his feet, biting his lip. He doesn't really want to ask, afraid the answer will be yes, but he has to know. Quietly, he says, "So…if Coin dropped them…that means they were our bombs, doesn't it?"

"Not necessarily." Beetee avoids his eyes.

"Were they, Beetee?" Gale insists.

Beetee sighs heavily. "I can't know for certain," he says. "But…I'm fairly sure, yes."

The air rushes out of Gale's lungs. Part of him is relieved for finally having an answer, even if it isn't a certain answer, but another aches with the painful knowledge of what that answer means. "Oh," he manages. "Okay."

They're silent for a moment. Then Beetee stands and begins to pace, the porcelain crunching loudly under his feet as he does. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted her," he mutters, mostly to himself. He raises his voice to address Gale as well. "Neither of us should have trusted her. I knew it, I just…" He sighs again. "This could have been avoided if I hadn't been so myopic."

It's Gale's turn to avoid his gaze. Though he was never outright about it—that isn't his way—Beetee insinuated over the course of their working together in Special Weaponry that he distrusted Coin. Gale, however, turned a deaf ear to this; by his way of thinking, Coin represented the rebels, so who could he trust if not the rebels? The Capitol? The people who burned his district to the ground? Who killed his father in the mines of 12? Who—indirectly—stole away from him the girl he loved? He'd always thought they were battling a two-sided war. Only now, far too late, does Gale that it's much more complicated than that. That Beetee—and Katniss, he realizes—were right, that Coin is just as—if not more so—despicable and power-hungry as Snow, as anyone from the Capitol. But thanks to his blind devotion toward her—the same blind devotion that rules so many others now—Coin's corruption, like quick sand, has them waist-deep. And they're only sinking faster.

"And if I had listened to you," Gale adds, taking his head in his hands again. "I should have listened to you."

Beetee turns to him, folding his arms, and speaks in a clipped tone when he does: "Yes, you should have. Unfortunately, you tend to talk and not listen."

The anger that he thought had dissipated rushes back into Gale at this blatant patronization, and before Beetee can blink, he's on his feet. A retort will only prove his point, so instead, Gale balls his fist and drives it into Beetee's mouth, which sends him plummeting to the floor.

"How's that for not listening?" says Gale heatedly, shaking his hand to stop the stinging.

He waits for Beetee to return to his feet, to apologize for what he said, or maybe even to punch him back—not that he'd have much success with that—but instead he remains sprawled on the carpet, a hand over his mouth. "Ow…"

Gale snorts. "Come on, I didn't hit you that hard."

Beetee's face only contorts with pain as he gingerly moves his hand over his mouth. Gale sighs and takes pity on him, extending a hand to help him up. "Oh, come here," he says, irritation weighing heavily in his voice. Beetee accepts his hand and allows Gale to hoist him up. "Any teeth missing?"

"No," Beetee mumbles, finally taking his hand away. There's a little blood, but other than that, he seems fine. "You busted my lip, though…"

"Did I?" Gale releases Beetee's hand and grasps his chin to take a closer look. "Ah. Yeah, that'll heal just fine." He lets go of Beetee's chin, returning to sit on the bed as Beetee again touches his bottom lip. "Don't worry about it."

"Ow…" Beetee complains, wincing.

"Man up a little. It's not that bad," Gale says with a scoff and a roll of his eyes. He sits back down on the bed, still shaking his stinging hand, and watches as Beetee sits beside him once more, still fingering his busted lip. At first, Gale only rolls his eyes again, but after going over why he hit Beetee in the first place, he's consumed with guilt upon realizing that Beetee was kind of right. About everything. Which isn't unusual, actually. "Okay, I'm sorry," he relents. "Just…I was wrong, okay? I was wrong. And you were right. There. Happy now?"

"I didn't say I was right," Beetee answers, his voice a mumble. His fingers continue to touch his mouth, and finally, Gale grabs his wrist and forces his hand away. Beetee doesn't seem to notice. "If I were right, I wouldn't have trusted Coin to begin with," he continues. "I would have warned others of what I believed her intentions to be. We wouldn't be stuck in this mess."

Gale pauses. "We…we as in Panem, or we as in you and me?" he asks slowly.

Beetee eyes him curiously. "We as in Panem. Stuck with another tyrant as a leader."

"Oh."

Another pause. "Why would I have meant we as in the two of us?" Beetee asks.

Gale shrugs a little. "Well, we're kind of in a mess of our own, aren't we?" Beetee still looks perplexed, so he elaborates. "Katniss is no fool, I'm sure she at least suspects we—or our bombs, at the least—were behind the attack on the City Circle. Which means she knows we're responsible, even if indirectly, for killing Prim. And all those others. She'll never be able to trust us again. And if word gets out that the Capitol didn't drop them, I'd bet you anything Coin will find a way to make sure we take the blame instead of her. So either way, we end up as pariahs. Which is kind of a mess."

He watches as Beetee absorbs this. "I suppose so, yes," he agrees after a moment. "But there's a silver lining."

Gale raises his eyebrows. "Really?" Beetee nods. "What makes you say that?"

"Katniss may never be able to trust us," he explains. "The country may never be able to trust us. We may never be able to clear our names."

"Still don't see it," says Gale.

"But even so, we know the truth," Beetee concludes.

Gale still hasn't grasped his point. "And…?"

"Well, it's like you said. We're both stuck in this mess. Together," says Beetee, looking down, as if embarrassed. "So no matter what…we'll still have each other." Gale blinks. "You know what they say. Go to heaven for the climate, hell for the company," Beetee adds. Again, he looks away. "And, um…you make for nice company."

Unsure of how to respond, Gale looks away, too. "Oh. Um, okay."

"You seem disappointed," says Beetee, turning to look at him again. Gale shakes his head to deny this.

"No, no, just…"

"If you were to pick who'd be an outcast of a sort with you, you wouldn't have picked me, right?" Beetee asks with a sort of ironic laugh.

"No, that's not it, just…well, yeah," Gale admits, when he realizes his lie won't hold up. "I mean, it's not that I don't like you, I do, it's just…it's kind of…new, I guess."

"What is?" asks Beetee.

"The idea of having no one to really turn to but you now. In a way," Gale tries to explain. It's as if he's regurgitating the words from the way they now spill out without his consent. "I mean, I'll always have my family, and maybe someday Katniss will forgive me, but…no one else could really understand. No one but you." And it's true, he realizes. Until now, it was always Katniss who had his back, but even if Katniss could ever trust him like that again, it'd never be the same. Because she could never understand how it feels to be responsible for such a catastrophe such as the bombing of the City Circle. She could never understand his anger, his guilt, his remorse. Only one person can. The person who undoubtedly feels the same way. He, Gale, is a murderer, and only one person has committed the same crime and will reap the same reward. And that's Beetee. "If…if that makes sense?"

He watches as Beetee digests this. "Oh, it makes sense," he agrees. "I feel the same way." He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, they seem softer, and he peers at Gale with the strangest expression. "I have no one but you."

Gale blinks, bewildered once more. "I didn't really…say…that…"

His sentence trails off into nothingness. He didn't say that, no, but he insinuated it. Because he really has no one else who can understand his sins and secrets, his skills, his desires and passions and all other things that define him as Gale—no one else who can so effortlessly pick him apart and piece him back together. And, really, whose head can Gale get into now like Beetee's? Not Katniss's; not anymore. In the time they've spent in 13, he and Katniss have drifted apart, but he and Beetee—unbeknownst to him—have forged a connection that transcends their years, their different backgrounds, their opposite personalities. And, ironically, the moment that severed his ties with Katniss solidified that connection. They have a bond. Gale doesn't know the exact nature of that bond, but he's used to adventure, to the unknown, and is willing to find out.

Maybe that's why, when Beetee leans in, Gale does nothing to pull away. Maybe that's why he even tilts his head to meet Beetee's lips with his own. It's an awkward kiss, one with startled blinking and bumping noses, but a sweet one all the same. A pleasant rush of warm breath that sends a tingle down Gale's spine and to his toes. He's eager for another, a longer, deeper one perhaps that he can compare to those kisses with Katniss in the woods, but Beetee's pulled back and is touching his fingers to his bottom lip again. "Ow," he says. His eyes meet Gale's and he gives a sheepish grin, which Gale soon copies.

"Sorry," Gale says, and Beetee laughs his breathy little laugh.

"It's all right."

Silence falls over them, but it isn't necessarily awkward. It's more thoughtful, a peaceful quiet for them to mull over these last few seconds in which whatever walls that remained between them crumbled. Almost shyly, Beetee offers his hand, and Gale accepts, twining their fingers together and then peering down to observe the effect. Dark and white, rough and smooth, large and small; like yin and yang, they're complementary opposites. Maybe that's what he needs; someone to complement him, rather than clash with him. Gale blinks, realizing he's gotten ahead of himself, and clears his throat awkwardly.

"So…after the, um, execution and all," says Beetee, "where do you plan to go? Are you going back to Twelve?"

Gale sighs and shakes his head. "No," he answers. Beetee looks at him in some surprise. "No, I can't go back to Twelve. Just…" There are simply too many painful memories for him now. Too many reminders of what once was, of what could have been. Even if his family returns, Gale knows that 12 can never be home for him again. He tries to articulate this, but he can't form words. "I can't."

Beetee seems to understand, and he nods. "I see."

"I was thinking about going to Two," Gale continues. "Once I sort some things out."

"Oh." Again, Beetee nods. After an awkward pause, he looks down at their entwined hands and says quietly, "Have you, um, ever been to Three, by any chance?"

Gale eyes him shrewdly, wondering if he's implying what he thinks he's implying. "No. I haven't."

Beetee swallows. "Well…maybe you should visit sometime," he says, still not meeting Gale's eyes. For the first time in weeks, Gale's lips stretch into a smile. "If you want. I mean, I can understand if you don't," Beetee hurriedly adds. "You probably wouldn't like it…"

"I don't know," says Gale, still smiling. "Maybe I would."

Another peaceful silence follows, and after a moment, Beetee rests his head against Gale's shoulder.

Gale isn't sure how long they stay like that, but he's sure it could have lasted hours were it not for a knock on the door. Startled, he and Beetee separate as a soldier enters, eying them and the messy room in some confusion before addressing Beetee: "Sir, President Coin would like to see you."

"See me?" Beetee asks. Gale narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"Yes, sir," says the soldier. "If you'll just come with me."

Beetee makes to follow him, but at the last moment, he shakes his head. "I'll be there in a moment. Go on without me."

Visibly perplexed, the soldier nods and does so. Gale gets to his feet as well and, despite it being just a few feet away, walks Beetee to the door. "So…I guess this is goodbye, Gale," he says, giving a small smile.

Gale nods; he understands what Beetee means, that they both have a lot to take care of before they continue whatever they started here. "For now," he adds.

Beetee's smile broadens. "For now."

He turns to leave but again, turns back at the last moment. "Um…about my lip…you said it'll heal, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Gale assures him. "Definitely." After a pause, he cups Beetee's chin and runs his thumb along his lower lip, watching as Beetee closes his eyes to savor the feel. "But it's going to leave a scar," he murmurs.

A scar. A mark of Gale on Beetee. He likes that more than he lets on. From the slight smile that plays on his mouth as he exits the room, Gale's sure Beetee feels the exact same way.


End file.
